Part 11 (1/2)

Slavin clucked to his team. ”Walk-_march_, thin!” said he.

Wheeling sharply about, they started down the trail again, the cutter following in their wake. If their consciences would have permitted them to glance back they would have remarked their superior's face registering unholy delight.

Out of the corner of his mouth Redmond shot, tensely, ”Dye think he--”

”Oh!” broke in Yorke resignedly, sotto voce. ”You can't fool him! . . .

_Isch ga bibble_, anyway!”

”Yorkey!” an' ”Reddy!” that worthy was mumbling tu himself--over and over again, ”_Yorkey_!” an' ”_Reddy_!” ”'Tis so they name each other--now!

Blarney me sowl! 'Tis come about! Fifty-fifty, tu--from th' mugs av thim. Peace, perfect peace, in th' fam'ly at last! Eyah! I wud have given me month's pay-cheque for a ring-side seat.” He sighed deeply.

They reached the fatal spot. Slavin, his levity gone, stepped out of the cutter and, retaining the lines of his restive team, stared long at the gruesome spectacle before him, with a sort of callous sadness.

”These tu must have lain here th' night,” he remarked, indicating the frost-rimed forms, ”have yez sized things up? Got th' lay av fwhere ut happened?”

Redmond made affirmative response.

”Can you place him, Sergeant?” queried Yorke.

”Eyah! Onless I am vastly mishtuk. Whoa, now! shtand still, ye fules!

Fwhat yez a-scared av? Here, Yorkey! hold T an' B a minnut!”

He pushed over his lines to the latter and, producing a pair of leather-cased brand-inspector's clippers, he cropped bare a circular patch on the defunct horse's nigh shoulder. Shorn of the thick, seal-brown winter hair, the brand was now plainly visible. Enlightenment came to Yorke in a flash, as he peered over his superior's shoulder.

”D Two!” he gasped, ”I knew I'd seen that horse somewhere! It's 'Duster,' Larry Blake's horse. Tchkk! this must be him. My G.o.d!”

”Shure!” snapped Slavin testily. ”Wake up! Is yeh're mem'ry goin', man?

One av yeh're own cases last month, tu!” He tenderly pocketed the clippers. ”Yes! ye shud know him!”--dryly--”lukked troo th' bottom av a gla.s.s wid him often enough.”

”Let's see'f he's got any letters or anything in his pockets--to make sure!” began Redmond eagerly. Suiting the action to the word he bent down to investigate. But Slavin intruded a huge arm. ”Hould on, bhoy!”

he said, with all an old policeman's fussiness over rightful procedure.

”Du not touch! That is th' coroner's bizness. Did they not dhrill that inta yeh at Regina?”

He stared thoughtfully at the corpse. ”Dhrink an' th' divil! eyah!

dhrink an' th' divil!”--sadly. ”Larry, me pore bhoy! niver more will ye come a-whoopin' ut out av Cow Run on yeh 'Duster' horse . . .

shpiflicated belike an' singin' 'Th' Brisk Young Man.” Austerely he glanced at Yorke, ”'Tis a curse, this same dhrink!”

”How do you know the poor beggar was drunk?” queried the latter, a trifle sulkily. ”He may have been as sober as you or I.”

”Shpeak for yehsilf!” retorted Slavin dryly, ”Ah! this must be Docthor c.o.x comin' now!”

A cutter containing two men was approaching them rapidly. Presently it drew up alongside the group and a short, rotund gentleman, clad in furs, sprang out and came swiftly, bag in hand. He was middle-aged, with a gray moustache and kind, alert, dark eyes. Greeting the policemen quietly, he turned to the broken body.

”Tchkk! good G.o.d!” He shook his head sadly. Redmond thought he had never seen a medical man so unprofessionally shocked. Presently he straightened up and turned to Slavin. ”Can you identify him, Sergeant?”

That worthy nodded. ”Eyah! 'tis Larry Blake, I'm thinking Docthor. Best frisk him now an' see, I guess. Maybe he has letthers.”

Hastily diving into his bag the coroner produced a pair of long keen scissors and slit the short, frozen sheepskin coat. In the breast-pocket of the coat underneath, amongst other miscellany two old letters rewarded his search. He glanced at the superscriptions and handed them up to Slavin.

”Larry Blake it is,” he said. He felt the soggy, pulped head. ”Skull's stove right in. Any one of these smashes would have sufficed to kill him.” He clipped the hair around a ghastly gaping crevice at the base of the head.